In the quiet riverfront enclave of Jensen Beach, Florida, a fierce tug-of-war is playing out between a well-known real estate developer and a community of locals determined to preserve their way of life. The battleground? A 5.5-acre stretch of land along the St. Lucie River—abandoned for decades, battered by hurricanes, tagged with graffiti, and dubbed by locals as their beloved “ghost town.”
Though it’s long since fallen into disrepair, the site once buzzed with life: fishermen heading out at dawn, residents sipping beers at sunset, and mom-and-pop shops serving generations. But since the 1970s, the area has been left to decay—until 2023, when Fort Myers-based developer Riverlight acquired the plot for $14.5 million and unveiled grand plans for a mixed-use development. Their vision includes 80 residential units, a boutique hotel, retail spaces, a dog park, and a waterfront restaurant.
To outsiders, this may sound like a welcome upgrade. But for many Jensen Beach locals, it feels more like an invasion.
“Jensen isn’t Miami,” says 63-year-old Gary Frain, who’s lived in the area since childhood and now runs a small fishing rental business. “By 9 p.m., the streets are quiet. That’s how we like it. That’s why we’re still here.” For residents like him, the development threatens the soul of the community—its stillness, its character, its affordability.
Opponents of the plan point to infrastructure issues, rising home prices, and fears of gentrification. “Can people like this officer still afford to live here if this goes through?” asked longtime resident Carol Balducci at a town hall meeting, gesturing to a local sheriff’s deputy. Their concern isn’t hypothetical: the median listing price in Jensen Beach now stands at $499,000—already higher than the national median of $440,000. Add waterfront views and commercial buzz, and prices could skyrocket.
Meanwhile, the project has been tangled in bureaucratic red tape. Although Riverlight acquired the land two years ago, construction has yet to begin. The developer’s master plan has stalled in Martin County’s lengthy review process, going through five rounds of revisions without approval. During this delay, the site has remained largely untouched—and vulnerable. Graffiti and break-ins are common, despite repeated efforts to board up and secure the buildings.
“It’s a constant cycle,” said Riverlight spokesperson Marcela Camblor. “We board it up, clean it up, and days later, it’s vandalized again.”
But beyond resistance, something else is emerging—community activism. In a local Facebook group, cheekily named “Quit Messen with Jensen,” neighbors have turned frustration into action. Between posts about barbecue specials and live music at the local martini bar, discussions have turned toward solutions. One resident suggested pooling funds to buy the land themselves. Another dreamed of converting the crumbling apartments into affordable housing.
Jeremy C. Neff, a longtime Jensen Beach local, revealed in a post that he’s been quietly working with others on a plan to make that idea real. “We’re forming what we call the Martin County Land Bank,” he wrote. “It would give the community the chance to buy and protect land before it’s snapped up by developers.” Neff said he plans to launch a website to promote the idea soon.
Not everyone opposes change entirely. Some acknowledge the decay and see value in responsible investment. “There are plenty of vacant buildings rotting away in Rio,” said 58-year-old Stephen Mikulec, referring to a neighboring town. “I’m all for preserving the charm—but someone’s got to clean this mess up.”
This isn’t the first time small-town residents in the U.S. have pushed back against big development. Similar clashes have played out from a fishing village in Maine to fruit orchards in Northern California. Time and again, the message is the same: communities want growth, but not at the expense of identity.
So far, the locals of Jensen Beach appear to be winning. Delays have left the property idle. The developer’s hands remain tied. And each passing week brings more voices to the table—through public hearings, social media, and local news interviews. At a recent town meeting, more than 100 residents gathered to make their opposition loud and clear.
As the legal process drags on, the future of this “ghost town” hangs in limbo. But many here are just fine with that. “Keeps the traffic down and the tourists away—YES!” wrote one commenter on Facebook.
Jensen Beach may not have skyscrapers or mega-resorts. But what it does have—according to those who live there—is something far more precious: peace, character, and a sense of belonging that no luxury development can replicate.
“Don’t turn our town into someone’s weekend Instagram background,” says Karen Petrovich, as she sips her lukewarm coffee. “We’re not just living here—we belong here.”